


i saw seven birds

by pog_wizard (doubleDerivative)



Series: seven birds [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Adoption, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bad Dadschlatt, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enderman Hybrid Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Fluff, Foster Care, Found Family, Gen, Goat Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Not RPF, Past Child Abuse, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Queer Character(s), Ranboo-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), and how shitty the foster care system is, first fic for this fandom :), mentions of:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29183367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubleDerivative/pseuds/pog_wizard
Summary: "I saw all of existence at once.Thunder booms through the open air, shaking everything from the ground up. Streaks of lightning web out from a single, undefinable point, casting silver linings to the dark clouds swirling ominously above. Strong wind pushes golden stalks of field grass closer and closer to the soil as a cacophony builds, demanding every bit of noise be heard, all the way out to the cosmos. A rumbling grows louder, as if the steady beating of hooves had chosen to accompany the flashy show in the sky instead of its usual companion, riding just beneath the gale that threatens to topple anything in its way. Hard, fast rain cuts streaks of its own through the greenery, striking the ground with the fury of a fox ready for prey.I saw a dark storm, a living hunger eating it from within."Ranboo wakes up to an unfamiliar house, a weird blend of a family, and few memories to their name. Because of course they do.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: seven birds [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168448
Comments: 62
Kudos: 411
Collections: Completed stories I've read, Ranboo Is Best Boi





	1. i saw a dark storm

**Author's Note:**

> i want to stress that my characterizations in no way reflect on the creators!
> 
> anyway ranboo wont do his character having DID which i respect but as a system with DID it is our god given right to assign one lol.
> 
> title and chapter titles are from the seven birds prophecy in the adventure zone balance arc.
> 
> EDIT 2/17/21: minor changes to descriptions, as well as moving this fic to another pseud. chapter 6 coming soon!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw/ dissociation, panic attacks, dissociative amnesia
> 
> Ranboo, upon waking in a strange house, meets its stranger occupants.

_I saw all of existence at once._

Thunder booms through the open air, shaking everything from the ground up. Streaks of lightning web out from a single, undefinable point, casting silver linings to the dark clouds swirling ominously above. Strong wind pushes golden stalks of field grass closer and closer to the soil as a cacophony builds, demanding every bit of noise be heard, all the way out to the cosmos. A rumbling grows louder, as if the steady beating of hooves had chosen to accompany the flashy show in the sky instead of its usual companion, riding just beneath the gale that threatens to topple anything in its way. Hard, fast rain cuts streaks of its own through the greenery, striking the ground with the fury of a fox ready for prey.

_I saw a dark storm, a living hunger eating it from within._

Ranboo wakes with a sheen of cold sweat slicking down the back of their neck, and an odd fuzz around the edges of the world. The room is unfamiliar to them— **Where are we?** _Did I die? Is this the afterlife?_ **No, you're definitely alive, dumba-** "Focus, please"— but they swallow the panic with a trained ease. **Exits, we need to find exits first.** _There's the door, obviously. The windows don't look very sturdy but what if I'm fifty feet in the air and when I go to climb out I plummet to my death?_ **Why would a room like this be fifty feet in the air?** _Just to spite me, personally._ "The door presents too many loose ends, though, like, I don't know, someone else coming into the room?"

Almost as if on cue, the door presses open, and despite better judgement, they freeze, foot dangling an inch above the wooden flooring. **When did we start moving?** _I think that was my fault._ A man pokes his head in with a neutral expression, bucket hat tilting slightly atop his head, but his eyes quickly soften as he processes the scene.

“Oh, hey, you’re up. Good morning,” he says with a smile, tone light. Ranboo swallows thickly— _Why does this always have to happen?_ After what feels like an eternity of tense silence, the man speaks again, stepping ever slightly into the room.

“You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to, I simply wanted to see how you were doing. Yesterday seemed… rough, to the say the least,” he winces sympathetically, and Ranboo— **Oh goddammit**. Strange room, strange building, strange person they supposedly already met. Another few tense beats of silence, and several lights seem to turn on in the man’s eyes.

“Do you remember yesterday?” he asks earnestly, voice attempting at being unjudging. With the question, the anxiety that Ranboo had kept buried to that point was unearthed so violently it made them physically ill, eyes welling on instinct and mouth drawing taut. Quickly, the man begins to approach, but seems to stop and think, then approaches with more caution.

“I’m going to come over there, ok? It’s not a big deal, we can work through this, alright? You’re not in trouble or anything,” he soothes, taking careful steps and eventually settling a comfortable distance from Ranboo, nearer the foot of the bed. All Ranboo wants to do is sink into the pillows behind them and disappear entirely; they can’t stand the feeling of being scrutinized, though they’re not entirely sure that’s actually happening. The man _seems_ nice enough, after all; all patient smiles and soft voice, Ranboo doubts he could be of any real threat. A surge of thoughts hits them all at once, overwhelming their senses.

 **But what if he was?** _It could be a very elaborate ruse, everyone has motivations and some require a bit more subtlety than others._ **Is this this man’s house?** _Why would he have brought me in?_ _Was he going to use me for something?_ **Maybe we crawled there in the dead of night and the stranger has simply lent us kindness?** They couldn’t remember, _I don’t remember this man or getting here_ or even leaving where they were before. **You can’t remember where you were before** , _why can't I remember?_ They felt like their brain was freezing over and combusting simultaneously, fog enveloping _my thoughts_ and **feelings** and surroundings almost entirely. The world shifted and blurred in weird colors and shapes circling around them endlessly, no matter where they turned their head or how vigorously they tried to shake it away.

Ranboo felt a strong grip on their hands, felt the way their hands squeezed back just as tight, heard the voice of the man again.

“— breathe with me, ok? In and out, like this. That’s good, you’re doing good.”

They could feel the pressure of the world again, the gravity pressing them into the soft mattress, the covers slung over their legs, the chill of the ground leaching into the sole of their foot.

“Ranboo,” the man said uncertainly after a bit more guided breathing, and Ranboo flinched. _Right. I’ve met this man,_ **he knows our name** _, that’s normal._

“My name is Phil, we met last night, you were brought here from a shelter, you said your name was Ranboo, you met my other kids. This is a safe place, but you are by no means obligated to stay,” Phil clarifies, gentle patience and worry weighing heavy on his brow. Ranboo bobs their head once in acknowledgement, head still too full of shouting they're desperately trying to tune out to properly respond. 

"I think it's ok to stay," they try to soothe their thoughts internally. Phil's mouth quirks into a smile, and he nods. **You said that outloud.** _1000 IQ plays._ "Hush," they mutter under their breath, more careful this time.

"I can warn them about your memory if you'd like, I can promise they're very understanding. I've fostered quite a few kids with similar needs," Phil smiles warmly, "Or you can tell them yourself."

"I– I think…" **It would be a lot easier on us.** _But what if they are judgemental? What if they make fun of me when his back is turned?_ **It might be better to just do it ourselves?**

"I can tell them," they decide with a small, final nod. Phil keeps his warm smile as he nods back, moving to leave the room.

Minutes blur together, and a knock startles Ranboo enough out of their stupor— 

"Morning, Ranboo!" A young brunet, with delicate horns beginning to grow barely out of his hair, practically bursts through the door. In one swift movement, he has his arms around them tightly, and they let out an undignified squeak. The goat hybrid boy smiles at them brightly as he pulls away, before something seems to click in his mind and his face morphs into a nervous expression.

"Please don't tell Dadza I gave you a hug," he requests desperately, and Ranboo cocks a curious eyebrow. **Dadza?** _Do you think he means Phil?_

"One of his rules is that I can only give people I've known for more than a week a hug, it sounds dumb but there's a purpose to it," he says the last part like it's been rehearsed several times, a sheepish smile on his face. **Yeah, certainly dumb.** _Hey, I think it's a good rule!_ It should honestly probably be longer. **Does the kid not know what stranger danger is or something?**

"Ok," Ranboo drags out, "I won't say anything," they promise, messing with their hands awkwardly. A thick silence passes for a beat, before they remember their conversation with Phil.

"I will warn you that, uh, I kind of–" they suck in a breath, "I don't really remember yesterday? Whatsoever?" 

Several emotions flicker through the boys eyes, all of them indecipherable, before he goes back to his bright smile.

"Ah! Ok! You can call me Tubbo," he announces.

"I think we're the same age? Uh," he drags out with a thoughtful expression, "I'm trying to think of what else I introduced myself with."

 _He's certainly straightforward._ **Maybe he really doesn't know what stranger danger is.** They shake their head, giving a small smile that doesn't sit quite right on their features. Much too patient for someone so young, much too understanding for someone… Well.

"It's fine, Tubbo—" Ranboo begins.

"Oh! I like bees a lot," Tubbo blurts out suddenly.

"There's actually some in the garden! I usually go out on hot days and make sure they're hydrated, you should come with me," he offers, holding a hand out to Ranboo. They take it reluctantly, and find themselves being pulled to their feet quicker than expected.

 **We are kind of skinny.** _What if Tubbo is just secretly really jacked?_ **Wait, that reminds me, we're not gonna talk about the fact the kid is named Tubbo?** _The way he said it made it seem like it was definitely not his actual name though._ "Fair."

Tubbo looks at them, head cocked to the side quizzically. They give an awkward half-smile back and shrug, before realizing why.

"Just, uh, thinking out loud." Ranboo clears their throat, and Tubbo shrugs, seeming satisfied moving forward.

Ranboo's tail swishes against the stairs as they make their way through cream coloured halls into a large living room decorated with some slightly wilting greenery, among many other miscellaneous things.

A tuft of pink pokes barely over a dark green couch, before it shifts and red eyes meet red and green. It goes to stand, unfurling to just below Ranboo's height, and blinks.

"Hallo," it greets with an awkward wave, "an' good mornin', to both of you."

 **Big… big pig… pig man…** _Those tusks look sharp._ **Everything about it looks sharp.**

Ranboo waves back just as awkwardly, and Tubbo springs into action.

"Technoblade!" he shouts, launching himself over the back of the couch and into the mildly surprised arms of the Piglin hybrid in front of them, from the looks of it. 

_Technoblade? What a name._ **Do we really have room to judge?**

Technoblade grunts, lip twitching into a restrained smile around its tusks. It lifts Tubbo quite a ways into the air, tossing the boy into the cushions of another couch nearby. Ranboo hears a wheeze as Technoblade dives after Tubbo into the sea of faded blue fabric and chuckles to themself. After a minute of Tubbo’s shrieking giggle filling the space, a mop of blond appears from the top of the stairs, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

“Tubbo, can you please be fucking quiet?” the newcomer calls, no real malice in his bite. Technoblade laughs dryly and the boy’s blue eyes spring open suddenly.

“Blade?” he yells excitedly, nearly throwing himself down the rest of the stairs and dashing past Ranboo.

**Anyone else feel like we’re intruding on something?**

They move slightly to see the Piglin hybrid trapping Tubbo on the couch while holding the blond in a headlock, which he desperately tries to escape.

“Tommy, help,” Tubbo croaks out exaggeratedly between laughs, face bright red. Tommy, _the blond, I’m assuming,_ finally gets a good grip on Technoblade, trying to use the height difference to flip it over him and loosen its grip. It works… mostly, as both of them land in a heap on the ground with an ear piercing scream and a grunt respectively. The three of them dissolve into a mess of laughter and swearing as Ranboo looks on, awkwardly messing with their shirt sleeves. Tubbo stops laughing first, getting up and approaching Ranboo again, breathless and smiling wide.

“Ok, you don’t have to feel bad for not remembering Techno because he wasn’t here yesterday,” Tubbo starts, and Techno pulls a face.

“Actually, an ‘it’ day,” it corrects, and Tubbo turns with a surprised look, then nods and makes an affirming hum.

“Its our oldest sibling, at the moment,” he snorts at his own joke, and Ranboo blinks in confusion. **Probably isn’t Phil’s first time taking in kids.** _That would make sense._

“Dadza takes in other kids all the time, Techno is the oldest who has stayed,” he explains, and Ranboo just barely catches Techno snort.

“Still callin’ him ‘Dadza’?” it asks, still resting on the floor.

“Habit,” Tubbo says with a shrug, trying to play off the embarrassed blush on his cheeks.

“Anyway, the bees!” Tubbo exclaims, once again tugging Ranboo along by the wrist. They move through a nice, if slightly outdated, kitchen, into a smaller room with a sliding door.

Gentle guitar strumming sounds through the glass, slightly muffled by both distance and the sounds of the early summer noon. Heat swells into the room as Tubbo positions himself like he was going to rip the door off its tracks, though it opens quite slowly.

“Gets stuck sometimes, gotta pull it a certain way,” he explains, panting slightly like it took all of his energy just to open it. Ranboo thoughtlessly tests it as Tubbo steps out onto the multi-levelled wooden deck. It slides easily for about a foot, getting caught slightly before closing all the way. **Wimp.** _Don’t be rude!_ **It’s true.** “Still rude,” Ranboo mutters subconsciously.

Tubbo bounds onto the second layer of the deck, artfully dodging various plastic and cloth chairs strewn about.

“Morning, Wilbur!” he calls, presumably to the brunet sat focused more on the guitar in his hands than his surroundings. He jumps ever so slightly, noiselessly, as Tubbo lands next to his white plastic beach chair. However, he smiles and gives him a little wave, turning and doing the same for Ranboo.

“We’re checking on the bees since it’s starting to get warmer!” he announces proudly, beckoning Ranboo down into the grass as he steps carefully around the dandelions and fragile violets poking through the green. Wilbur just smiles bigger, putting his guitar in his lap to sign something to Tubbo.

“Holy shit, really? Is it still in there?” he asks, to which Wilbur shakes his head and signs once again.

“Oh. Ugh, wasps already?” Tubbo comments as Ranboo joins him by a small shed with various markings and paintings adorning the sides.

 **He likes bees but not wasps?** _Do_ you _like wasps?_ **Fair, but we don’t like bees either.** “Speak for yourself.”

“You like wasps?” Tubbo whips around, incredulous expression.

Ranboo flinches, shaking their head vigorously.

“No, no, I was thinking about something else. But, they’re not entirely bad, either?” they offer with a shrug, and Tubbo gives an exaggerated sigh.

“You’re right, you’re right.” His eyes scan the ground, and upon finding, or perhaps not finding, what he was looking for, he moves toward the shed.

He pauses, suddenly, a wicked grin on his face.

“Ok, wasp boy, if it doesn’t bother you, could you get a watering can out of the shed for me?” Tubbo asks, voice sickly sweet.

 **Oh, we in it now.** Ranboo shrugs it off, moving to retrieve the requested item, and finding they do so with no problems. Tubbo hides his mischievous disappointment, only nodding in thanks and moving to a hose behind the small structure to begin filling it.

As they move around the yard, Tubbo excitedly talking about each flower and which ones the bees like more, how he, Phil, and Techno had planted them one exceptionally nice spring day, and how he’d taken up the mantle of keeping them happy and healthy, Ranboo genuinely considers staying in this strangely comforting place.


	2. the twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw/ dissociation, dissociative amnesia
> 
> Ranboo finds out the power of twins and potatoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> technodad agenda pog

Ranboo awakes the next morning to a gentle rapping on the door. Phil greets them cheerily as they crack it open, making sure he doesn’t open the door any more than Ranboo wants.

“I know you said yesterday you didn’t want to go to market with me today, but I thought I’d ask again just in case,” he offers. _Did I say that?_ “Market?”

“Ah, that makes sense,” Phil mutters to himself, brows furrowed slightly in thought.

“What makes sense?” Ranboo asks, nervous energy rising through their gut and settling in the base of their throat.

“You seemed out of it yesterday, so it makes sense you didn’t remember. Since we have a garden we always go to a small farmer’s market a few miles away and sell our crops the Thursday of each month,” he explains, patience shining in his eyes.

_It’s Thursday?_

Ranboo nods, trying to blink away their confusion. How had it become Thursday and they didn’t even notice? They barely even remember going to bed Tuesday.

“Ok, yeah, I think I’m good to stay here,” they affirm, instead of trying to question it.

Phil smiles and backs away, pulling the door shut as he goes, and Ranboo finds themself once again in the soft bed. The first soft dregs of sunlight peek just below the cotton curtain, and Ranboo thinks it’s much too early to be awake as their eyelids slide closed.

_I saw seven birds._

A flurry of black against dark green. An otherwise silent evergreen forest, a deer as still as stone. A crow and several more. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. They sit in a circle, cawing soundlessly, flapping their wings to an indiscernible beat. The scenery shifts in the distance, waving hues of yellow and red and orange. Acrid, burning smoke creeps lazily into the clearing, engulfing the black and the green and the brown. All is gray.

_I saw the Twins._

Later into the day, Ranboo pokes their head out of the door, ears twitching and swivel to track any signs of life. Faint music floats up from the stairs, _Wilbur?_

“Who all left with Phil?” they wonder under their breath, making their way down.

Wilbur mindlessly tunes his guitar, basking in the warm rays of sunlight streaming through the open window, summer haze melting the tension in his muscles while the thoughts tumble endlessly in the spin-cycle of his head. Techno gazes at him with masked half-interest over the book they skim lazily, occasionally reciting the lines they remembered under their breath.

“Mornin’, Ranboo,” Techno greets, eyes still locked on Wilbur.

Ranboo jumps slightly, not expecting to have been seen.

“Oh, uh, morning, Techno. And– and Wilbur,” Ranboo returns, and receives an enthusiastic wave.

Ranboo sits on one of the unoccupied couches, a dull, green thing, sinking into the cushions and lapsing into a mutual silence, Wilbur lightly picking at some of the same chords he was the day Ranboo woke up here. The heat encompasses them, not unkindly, as Techno hums along to the melody, occasionally raising their brows at a changed note but continuing nonetheless.

Just as Ranboo’s eyes are about to slip closed, Techno startles them with a question.

“So, how’ve you been adjustin’?” They awkwardly scratch at their cheek as they break the silence.

“It’s, uh, well…” _It’s been okay, I guess._ They weigh their feelings for a moment. “I’ve lost a lot of time, but that’s normal. It’s been fine, for the most part.”

Techno nods, not even batting an eye.

“Tubbo said somethin’ about your memory, glad to hear you’re settlin’ well, though. Certainly better than me,” they remark offhand, and something about it piques Ranboo’s interest.

“What was it like for you?” they ask, and Techno turns to face them, tusks and all. “If I may ask,” they amend.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Techno drawls. “Me and Wil had a lot of trouble adjustin’ to, well, not bein’ under the threat of death constantly, if I’m bein’ blunt.”

“You and Wilbur came here together?” Ranboo asks, as opposed to the million other questions that burst violently into the front of their thoughts.

“We’re twins, actually. Identical,” Techno shrugs, and the dry tone makes Ranboo laugh awkwardly. _That… that was a joke, right?_ “It sounds like a joke but before,” Techno gestures to their face, “we were basically indistinguishable.”

Ranboo nods, not quite understanding but not willing to push it from Techno’s body language.

“I got in a lot of trouble at a lot of the foster homes we lived at before. Kids would try pushin’ us around and I swiftly taught ‘em why that was a bad idea,” they continue with a grimace. “Not that I’m proud of it, nor the way I learned those skills.” Techno turns to Ranboo, carefully blank expression. “Go ahead, ask away.”

Ranboo sputters, trying to figure out if it was sarcasm or not. After a moment, they decide that Techno means it, and clears their throat.

“What skills?” they manage to squeeze out through their intimidation.

Techno smiles wickedly and huffs a laugh, lips stretching over their very, _very_ sharp tusks, faltering only slightly at the slight anxious shiver Ranboo tries to hide.

“How to fight, how to incapacitate someone as quick as possible, et cetera, et cetera,” Techno explains slowly, mouth twitching slightly as Ranboo squirms in their seat. _I could just… go back to the room, pretend this didn’t happen._ They try not to think about Techno chasing them up the stairs on all fours, and fail miserably.

Wilbur reaches over and slaps Techno on the arm with a look. They put their hands up in surrender, breaking the tension in the silence with a snicker.

“Right, right, ok, I’ll stop,” they relent, turning back to Ranboo with a much softer expression, “sorry, kid, just had to get a reaction out of you. I don’t mean any harm, I promise.”

_Implying they were being serious._ “Cool, cool, ok.”

Techno glances outside, contemplates something, then hums, satisfied with whatever conclusion they reached.

“Hey, Ranboo, what do you know about gardening?”

Ranboo finds themself following Techno out the back door with slight apprehension, running their hands through the taller patches of emerald grass. The two of them stop just outside a fenced off area, Techno fiddling with a metal gate before stepping carefully onto the tilled earth.

“I was bein’ serious, earlier, I’m not goin’ to hurt you,” they assure when Ranboo doesn’t immediately step into the garden.

“I know! I know,” they assert, and flounder for another reason, flushing. Techno’s expression softens even further, going to the back of the area and making sure to keep a sizeable distance. 

“I’ll work on the potatoes over here and you can do the carrots, that okay?” they ask, voice filled with a subtle worry that somehow unsettles Ranboo further. _Do I seem that bad off?_ **We’re quite literally quaking right now.** “Oh great, the peanut gallery is back.”

“You talkin’ to someone?” Techno questions, glancing up over at Ranboo. They dig at the soil for a bit easier access and slipping the seeds in, sighing heavily.

“Just myself, didn’t realize I said anything out loud,” they admit, shifting slightly to reach the next space without having to get up.

Techno hums in acknowledgement. _Do you think they mean they want me to talk to them instead?_ **Might be worth a shot, there's no need for us to be so weird**.

"So, you were reading, earlier?" Ranboo tries, nerves making the words jumble as they leave their mouth.

"Yeah, just a collection of greek myths, I've memorized most of it," Techno replies, somehow picking up the unasked question. "It was actually one of the first books I'd ever read, and I keep an abridged copy in my back pocket. Wrote and bound it myself, actually," they chuckle as they pull it out to show off proudly, the leather slightly warped at the edges with time.

"Oh, neat." Ranboo replies, unsure how else to continue the conversation. They continue working in silence for a few minutes.

“You don’t have to answer but, d’your thoughts ever sound different from each other?” Techno asks, and Ranboo cocks an eyebrow. “Like, does it ever seem like… they have a different voice?” Techno tries, shrugging unsure.

“Uh, I guess?” Ranboo shrugs back, accidentally pulling up a nearby carrot that was still growing. “Oops.”

“It’s alright, just replant it, it’ll still be ready for next week,” Techno says, chucking potato chunks into the pre-dug holes. **That would be a good idea.** Ranboo changes their approach, digging out holes in a three by three square around them then tossing the seeds in, instead of going one by one.

“There’s been a few kids here who’ve been the same, Phil was surprisingly good at dealin’ with ‘em,” Techno mentions idly, mostly focused on planting. Ranboo hums in acknowledgment, head also a little lost in the dirt surrounding them.

"Which one's your favourite?" they ask, peering over at Techno. Techno snorts as they peer back.

"What, kid who's been here?" they ask, incredulous. Ranboo vigorously shakes their head, flushing.

"No, no, greek myth," they correct with an awkward laugh. Techno ponders for a moment, thoughtfully biting at their lip.

"Not really sure, I sympathize with Pandora a lot, though," they respond. Ranboo isn't surprised as they thought they'd be.

"I wouldn't really know, I don't know why I asked," they admit. Techno lights up significantly.

"I can tell you about it, sometime. I basically have my abridged copy memorized as well so I could teach you the most popular ones in a few minutes flat," Techno brags, regular monotone lilting slightly with excitement.

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure," Ranboo concedes. They were interested, really, mostly just… _Techno is… interesting._ **Do we think he means well?** _I think so, but at the same time, I'm not sure_. They just felt conflicted. They tensed their hands, feeling the dirt against their palms, taking in the greenery to try and distract their rambling thoughts.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, about Phil, ‘m kinda stealin’ one of his techniques right now.”

Techno breaks the silence that had overtaken them. In that moment, Ranboo notices that they are much closer than before, chest seizing up momentarily.

“When he first took us in, I refused to go near him. I'd make him leave the room before I did anything, and god forbid he tried to be alone in a room with Wil. I'm honestly surprised he didn't kick me out after the first week," Techno admits with a breathy laugh. "It took 3 months for me to let him in the same room as me, and he did it this exact same way." Techno looks at Ranboo with a surprising gentleness mixed into the sea of crimson iris. "Gave me something to distract me, get closer inch by inch to get me used to it subconsciously, find common ground to show he wasn't a threat." They take a step, looking just above Ranboo's brow with a purposeful expression.

Gentle guitar chords come to the forefront of Ranboo's thoughts, no longer white noise buzzing outside of their grasp, and they look to see Wilbur relaxed in the same plastic deck chair as before. **Wilbur seems ok, which means Techno…** _Techno is good, too!_ **They were just kidding around, we shouldn't be so sensitive about it.**

Ranboo takes a blind step toward the middle of the field, a presence suddenly making itself known quite close beside them. They barely flinch as they turn to see Techno a mere foot or so away. **Techno's alright**.

Techno opens their arms, semi-awkward, but not demanding. An open invitation that would leave no hurt feelings if turned down. Ranboo can hardly resist, drowning in feelings and thoughts they didn't know they were holding.

Shaking, squatted with their arms wrapped around Techno's middle, Ranboo thinks about how alone they are, how little they have, what this situation means to them. "I'm so alone, I'm so alone."

Techno shushes them, running an unsure hand through Ranboo's hair while they tearlessly sob. From the deck, Wilbur smiles and nods at Techno in a gesture of approval.

"It's— it's scary, bein' alone, I know. I kept Wil by me at all times because I was so scared of bein' alone, too," they admit under their breath. "When the people who you thought you could trust, who are supposed to protect you… When they don't do that, that– that hurt, it hurts worse. That loneliness hurts so much worse. It doesn't have to be like that, not here," they promise.

Ranboo clutches desperately at the back of their shirt, finally beginning to calm but not quite ready to let go. "I don't want to let go."

"You don't have to, kid, I'll still be here. You don't have to let go." The words sound rehearsed, parroted maybe, but they still leave a warmth in Ranboo's chest that's been missing for far too long.

Finally calm, the two of them move to head inside, the sun dipping into the land and casting everything in golden hues. They wash in the sink, a companionable silence. Dinner comes and goes, and Ranboo finds themself remembering, for the first time this week, settling themselves in the soft comfort of their bed and drifting off, chest lighter than before.


	3. the lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw/ discussion of emotional and physical abuse, neglect, homelessness, abandonment, trauma bonding, denial, police
> 
> Ranboo witnesses the miracle of life while learning how cruel it can be.

_I saw seven birds._

Back alleys filled with crawling rot stretch out along the veins of the city. Skyscrapers bend inward, providing shelter from the pouring rain to the inhabitants below. Droplets shrivel and evaporate as soon as they hit the blacktop, a must permeates every crack and crevice. A need permeates every heart and stomach of passersby. Heat swells the buildings and warps them into unnatural shapes, letting the acid fall through onto the vulnerable. The smell of rot and burning flesh overtakes all senses.

_I saw the Lover._

Much too early in the morning, Ranboo is startled awake by the slam of a door.

"Ranboo!" Tommy greets, overly cheery and dripping with as much charisma as he can muster. Ranboo blinks against the light, sitting up with little haste.

"Come on, come on, we've got things to do, my friend!" Tommy says, approaching the bed swiftly and tugging half-heartedly at their sleeves.

"Wh– huh?" they manage, stumbling slightly as Tommy pulls them off the bed. Their pajamas sag a little, and they just barely wring their wrist free before he can drag them any further. "Tommy, I—"

"Right! Go get some messy clothes on, we're checking on the cows," Tommy explains as if it was obvious.

Ranboo complies anyway, grabbing a rougher-off pair of jeans and what they assumed was one of Wilbur's old shirts, based on the fading band logo adorning the front. They stare at Tommy expectantly, who cocks a confused eyebrow before realizing and wheeling around on his heel, staying in the room. Ranboo sighs and runs a hand through their hair, swiftly getting dressed.

In the back of their head, they note that this is the first day they remember the process of getting dressed, despite having been here for about a week. **We're awful lucky Wilbur is a freak of nature and has similar proportions to us.** They brush aside the thought, chastising their brain for phrasing it so rudely.

It's a nice day out, if not for the humidity that clings to the two of them the second they step onto the deck. Tommy points to a structure in the distance.

"That's the cows." Ranboo hums, slightly confused. It looked to be maybe a good mile out, just past the garden. **Why so far out?**

"We're– well, Phil's saving the land in between for some pasture, some other things, maybe more farmland," Tommy answers as if reading their mind. Ranboo nods, following Tommy through the back gate without much else to add.

"I usually bring Tubbo with me, but it's their 'day' and I don't want to make Henry wait," Tommy mentions as they walk through the field, tall grass softly scratching at Ranboo's arms. They decide not to question the implications.

Being that it was still quite early, Ranboo couldn't help but feel unnerved as they moved through the fog swirling passively around the two, trying to ignore the sting at their skin.

They reach the building in a few minutes, sunrise beginning to burn off the last remnants of the fog, and Tommy barely pauses as he opens the barn doors, dozens of beady eyes gazing back at the two of them for just a moment. _At least they don't stare._

Tommy pads over to one of the stalls in particular, while Ranboo wanders the aisles in slight amazement. They'd never seen this much livestock in one area, honestly, and it was a little overwhelming. One cow licks emphatically at her calf's head, which gives out a soft moo at Ranboo's approach. They settle their hand gently on the wooden fencing keeping the two seperated from the rest, and gaze doe-eyed at the slightly slimy white coat.

Ranboo nearly jumps out of their skin when Tommy claps them on the back, the latter laughing loudly at the former's reaction.

"That one looks real fresh," he says with a shit-eating grin, looking back at the newborn calf.

"Fresh?" Ranboo snorts, slightly on edge.

Tommy opens his mouth to retort, but closes it and furrows his brows instead.

"No, I don't think I can say that, can I?" he mutters, not quite intending for Ranboo to hear but unaware of his actual volume. Ranboo doesn't press. 

"You ever been 'omeless before?" Tommy asks bluntly, putting a weird emphasis on the word "homeless" and avoiding Ranboo's gaze.

"Yeah, not for long though," Ranboo says, scratching idly at their arm. Tommy glances down at the motion, face paling.

"You alright there, big man?" he asks in lieu of wherever he was taking the conversation originally. Ranboo follows Tommy's line of sight to their right arm, white skin covered in angry, red hives. They hesitate for a moment, and the cogs seem to click together in Tommy's head.

"Fog is made of water!" he shouts, exaggeratedly smacking his forehead.

"Fog is made of water," Ranboo sighs, exasperated. "It'll go away on it's own in a few minutes, it's not like I was drenched," they explain.

"So we're good then?" Tommy asks, immediately melting into a more relaxed state when Ranboo nods in confirmation. "Right, come meet Henry, then!"

Ranboo makes their way over to the same stall Tommy stopped at when they first came in. The bull greets them with a loud moo, and Tommy gives him a good scratch between the ears.

"He's the only one I've bothered to give a name. I just feel… I don't fuckin' know, but I feel like he understands me sometimes." The other admission dies in Tommy's throat, and he swallows it like a bitter pill. It settles hard and heavy in his guts. Henry gives Tommy an almost pitying look, can cows even experience pity?

Henry butts his head against Tommy's arm, and Tommy gives him a light shove to his snout back. Henry huffs.

Ranboo decides to take a shot at getting Tommy to bring it back up.

"Can I ask why not Techno or Wilbur?" Tommy looks shocked at the question, admittedly rightfully, and Ranboo momentarily panics that they said something irreparable.

"Honestly? Dad said it'd be a good idea to get to know someone else my own age. My older brothers are cool and shit, but, older. They don't really get it," he answers, voice lost all previous energy. The vulnerability makes him sound tired.

"What's it like, having Phil as a dad and a therapist?" Ranboo tries. Tommy looks at Ranboo for a moment, thoughtfully scrunching his face up.

“Familiar, but different, honestly. It’s like… my bio brother, he was in my head a lot. It was because he cared about me and all that shit, don't get me wrong. At that point, Dr– he was the only one who did- did care about me, he was right, that's what I don't think Phil understands." Tears begin to glint at the edges of his eyes, pinpricks of silvery light from outside caught there.

"He– he's trying to, and I can– he keeps telling me how badly I was treated. How no one should– no one deserves to go through what I did. But he doesn't get that it– somehow he doesn't get that my brother made it better. That it wasn't as bad as it could have been," Tommy begins to ramble. Dry sobs build up in his breaths, sounding like he was literally vomiting out the words, but he didn't let them stop coming. Ranboo hopes their patience provides them room.

"Hell, he could have been our bio parents! He could've– he could've beaten me unconscious— at least when he hit me it was– well, I wouldn't say I deserved it, he said I did— When– when I was being a 'brat' he wouldn't let me eat which was kind of fucked, I guess, but– but he'd always let me eat the next day. I- I- I just—" He finally seems to notice the tears streaming down his face, wiping at them with the backs of his hands.

"I didn't want him to leave me after– after he got kicked out. I went with him, he was my brother, they couldn't– couldn't just do that to him. We– we stayed in shelters a lot. Sometimes he'd leave– he'd drop me off and then disappear for a few days. I hated those places, but I loved him. I loved him, he was my brother I couldn't– I couldn't not love him—" His throat catches, and Ranboo recognizes a breaking point when they see one. Tommy's eyes start to go a bit glassy, and Ranboo can only think to open their arms. Tommy flinches belatedly, but ultimately takes the invitation, clutching tightly to Ranboo's lanky frame.

"I love– I love him. He hurt me, he– he hurt me so bad– so fucking bad. But, I still love him," Tommy wails. Ranboo simply rubs soothing circles on his back, emphatically breathing to get him to follow. After a few minutes, Tommy pulls away, puffy faced with a melancholic smile, and wipes at his cheeks again.

"Honestly, I kind of hate him, too. I feel the same way toward Dad. On one hand, he took me in and takes good care of me and whatever other shit dads are supposed to do but… he also got my brother arrested for like... child endangerment and shit." He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair.

"I get the feeling. My parents—" Ranboo begins, but stops when they realize. They didn't know why they felt that way about their parents. They shake their head to clear it. "I just get what you mean."

An awkward pause passes, then Tommy straightens, taking one final wipe to his cheeks and nose, then shakes them out at his sides. Puffing out his cheeks, he lets the air out slowly. He flashes Ranboo a lazy grin.

"I'm fucking starving, wanna head back to the house and eat?" he asks, usual bravado returning. Ranboo nods, and Tommy gets a devious glint to his smile.

"How 'bout a race, big man? Loser has to make it," he offers, bolting out the door in lieu of waiting for a response. Ranboo just chuckles and closes the barn door, half-jogging to catch up.

Tommy is much faster than he seems, as he's already halfway through the field when Ranboo catches up to him.

"Christ, you're fast!" he pants, picking up his pace.

Ultimately, Tommy touches the back gate seconds before Ranboo, declaring himself the decisive winner. Ranboo chuckles and concedes, knowing fully well they could have easily beaten him.

The kitchen is surprisingly empty given the time when they reach it, but they don't complain. Ranboo immediately begins to semi-awkwardly dig around for something to make, ultimately settling on simple omelets. Tommy gives them an impressed look.

"Are you actually surprised?" they ask, bemused, as they crack the eggs into a measuring bowl.

"I don't know! It just seems sort of– sort of gay." The joke dies the second it leaves his tongue, a sour taste in his mouth. "Sorry, that was… I shouldn't have said that."

Ranboo raises their eyebrows fractionally in shock. They continue on cooking in terse silence for a moment.

"Although, I do make a mean steak, if I really feel like trying," Tommy comments out of nowhere, then realized the implication. "I'm not– not saying I'm gay. I hate men, love women. All about the ladies, you know? And they're– they're all about me," he tries to hide his grimace. Ranboo doesn't inform him that he failed.

They trade some cooking tips back and forth for a bit, until both omelets are finally done, and they both dig in.

"D'you think chickens know we eat their eggs?" Tommy asks in the middle of his bite. Ranboo snorts.

"I don't think– I don't think they care?" they offer.

"I would care if someone was eating my eggs," Tommy grumbles, no real bite to it.

"I guess you're right," Ranboo laughs.

They trade some more banter back and forth, talking about an oddly broad range of topics, before deciding to go their own ways for the day. _Not as bad as it could have been._


	4. the protector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw/ drunkenness, attempted assault, panic attacks, dissociation, discussion of mental health issues, human trafficking, human experimentation, the foster care system being notoriously shit
> 
> Ranboo meets a genuine threat for the first time, another one helps them though it.

Ranboo sits on the steps of the front porch, soaking up the sunlight. It's quite early in the morning, their legs having carried them out after a particularly puzzling nightmare. The wind is bracing, cold sinking in against their sore muscles, as their mind drifts from one topic to another, head bickering with itself.

_I didn't think it was that bad._ **It was burnt through, not even the middle was spared.** _It didn't taste burnt, at least._ **That doesn't mean it tasted good!**

They think back to Tubbo's attempt at a pound cake, fond despite the little time they've been there. The smoke was billowing out of the oven, carried up to their room and carrying them back down with it. Tubbo crouched over a pan on the ground, panicking with a fire extinguisher gripped in his hands. He looked up at Ranboo tearfully, spurring them to come over and try to soothe him as best as they could. After everything was cleaned up, they both sat at the kitchen island as Tubbo morosely described his failed attempt to make Ranboo a gift. Ranboo saw it fit to try it out anyway, and it seems was still grappling over whether it was actually salvageable or not. They ended up throwing the whole thing away after a few bites.

Ranboo bites their lip as a particularly cold gust of wind pushes into them, and they pull the flimsy gray cardigan tighter around them. It would warm up eventually, so they didn't exactly bother grabbing anything heavier, but that didn't stop the regret leaking into their mind. They blink heavily, suddenly processing just how tired they were, and the sun is so nice, warm against the chill, and if they angle just right, it hits them without the wind. Maybe they can just…

_I saw seven birds._

Blood seeps into soil gently, staining brown into deep red. Metal clangs menacingly in the distance as young eyes dulled by time that has yet to pass look around. It barely registers. More blood is shed, cascading in waterfalls and leaving warm bodies cold. Tear tracks are wiped and hidden in an instant, metal clanking closer than before. A cough, blood splatters in constellations against mud-streaked faces as a nearly gone body hits the ground.

_I saw the Protector._

"—ey, hey, kid."

Ranboo blinks against the harsh sunlight, shivering despite the sudden heat. A strange hybrid sways in front of them, horns wrapped around long, furry ears and eyes cold and angry.

"You one 'f Phil's kids?" he slurs, backing away from where his hand had been wrapped around Ranboo's shoulder. They barely even noticed the pain from the iron grip until it was released, cringing. They just nodded, tongue numb and useless in their mouth.

"Y'wanna get 'im for me? Need to talk," the goat hybrid asks, trying to make himself look large while pretending to put on a gentle tone.

Ranboo just froze.

The stranger scowled, moving slightly closer.

"Kid, I asked you t' go get him." 

Ranboo remains frozen, staring dead ahead at the very clearly intoxicated man. The alcohol wafts into their nose as silver sheens just beneath their chin.

"'m not askin' again," he says, face deadly serious. In slow motions, their body begins to move of its own accord, slowly getting up to comply. **Just get Phil and we'll be okay.** _Phil is an adult, he can take care of himself, he'll be fine._ **He won't hurt us if we get Phil.**

A flash of pink and the sudden disappearance of the dagger previously pressed against their throat brings them out of their head. Technoblade has the man pinned to the ground, fingers reaching to try and get to the dagger. Techno expertly kicks it away, keeping the hybrid pinned against the gravel in a non-deadly hold. After a moment, he stops struggling, out of breath and dazed from effort.

"You know you're not supposed to be here, Schlatt," Techno mutters, lower tusks prominently bared.

"Technoblade," Schlatt casually greets, still panting slightly.

There's a moment of silence, and the waterworks begin on Schlatt's end, but somehow they feel insincere.

"I just– I wanna see my- my kid, man," Schlatt begs, lip trembling for effect.

"Next time I'd advise not putting one of my siblings in mortal danger," Techno nearly spits in response, letting up on him. "Get out of here man."

Schlatt pouts, literally pouts, but stumbles to his feet anyway. Techno gives him a slight push, making sure not to actually trip him, and watches with cold eyes as his silhouette disappears into the horizon. As soon as he's gone, Techno turns to Ranboo, gaze melted with concern.

"Hey, hey, you're ok," he soothes, offering his arms to Ranboo. Only as Techno's shirt begins to soak through under them do they consider the fact that they're crying. Their breath hitches and begins coming in stilted sobs, brain and body catching up to the situation. Techno presses Ranboo close to him, carding a hand through their hair, whispering reassurances in their ears.

They blink, suddenly finding themselves sat awkwardly in the bathroom, Techno gently wrapping their neck with a thin bandage. He looks up and catches their eyes on accident, and he has to hold their head still so they don't cringe too far from his grasp.

"Sorry, just noticed you returnin' to the land of the conscious," he apologizes as he ties off the bandage, leaning back.

"How did you know how to keep him down? He was like, twice your age?" they say before the filter in their mind slams the breaks. Techno looks shocked for a moment, but shakes his head.

"'m sorry, you don't have to answer that," they manage to choke out through their embarrassment, face flushing.

"If you really wanna know, I'll tell you, but we should probably go somewhere more comfortable," he says, standing and offering Ranboo a hand. Their curiosity gets the better of them, and they take it, letting Techno lead them to his and Wilbur's room.

It was a little messy, mostly on Techno's side, with various articles of clothing strewn about. The sheets on Techno's side were pink and looked to have a fleece underside, the pillows arranged to be more padding against the wall than actually used. An axe leans lazily against a spruce dresser, a few swords dot along the walls, all looking significantly aged.

A faded red chair is shoved against the wall near Techno's bed, and he gestures for Ranboo to sit in it as he takes a place on the bed. Ranboo notices a variety of different posters for tournaments pasted against the walls as well, reaching a clean divide between the twins' different sides of the room. 

"So, I told you a little about my and Wil's past when you first came here, right?" Techno starts, and Ranboo only nods.

"It's… not a pretty story, I'll warn now," he grimaces. Ranboo nods again, unsure how to respond. Techno sucks in a breath and begins.

"When we were… far too young to remember, me and Wil got stolen from our birth parents, or at least I assume. We eventually ended up in the hands of a… 'dog-fighting' ring. Learned pretty young how to fight, considerin' they were all to the death. They kept Wil from me if I didn't do what they wanted, and that was a fate worse than death at the time, so, I definitely have some blood on my hands," he grimaces again, picking at long faded scabs and invisible blood, dried and cracking under the flex of his knuckles.

"They did some, well, experimenting on me and a few others. Wanted to see what would happen to my fighting if they injected me with some Piglin blood. I think it turned out a bit more physical than they thought, that or they just wanted some other way to 'break' me," he continues, jaw tight.

"It made it worse when the psychosis started. I started hearing people cheering me on even while I was trying to sleep, telling me to get up and hurt more, spill more blood. They never really went away, but they're easier to ignore now," Techno admits, and Ranboo frowns. 

"Shortly after we turned 10, the whole operation got busted, and we were handed over to social services without much decorum. Quite frankly, our agents didn't really care about us, not like they should've. I think if it was just him, Wil would've been fine, but, well, I don't have to tell you hybrids aren't very well respected." Ranboo winces in sympathy, thinking of their own upbringing… and coming up blank, but the pit in their stomach tells them there should definitely be something there.

"I got into a lot of fights because the other kids would get too close to Wil, or would threaten to hurt him in some way. Most just wanted to get a reaction out of me, but I wasn't smart enough to figure that out at the time. At 13 they finally got sick of me and sent me to Phil, who finally figured out it was all a trauma response, not me being a simple 'problem child'. Last year he actually officially adopted us," he says with a slight nostalgic smile on his face.

"C-PTSD, Autism, and Schizoaffective Bipolar, if you were dying of curiosity," he adds on, and Ranboo blinks.

"I don't know what any of those are," they admit, the first words they'd spoken the entire time. Techno simply gives a little smile, getting up and grabbing something from the top of the dresser and returning to his spot.

"Doesn't matter. While you're in here, want me to school you on those myths like I promised?" Techno offers. Ranboo nods with a small, grateful smile.

They're very aware that if not for Techno's distraction, they would have just been sat in their room in shell-shock for the rest of the day. They doubted it was unintentional.

Techno flips through the book, hand trailing his eyes down the page, before landing on something he was satisfied with.

"So, Daedalus built the Labyrinth for King Minos—"

The evening comes and goes, and Techno finds himself having to awkwardly carry Ranboo out of his room, very much asleep. Though, even if Techno would deny it, he didn't want to wake them anyway. They had had a hard day, and he figured it would only breed nightmares for them to reawaken, based on their peaceful expression now.

He laid them in their bed, tucking them in and letting their fond smile unabashedly stretch their features in the dark and peaceful quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this time period doesnt exist but the dsm v sure does.


	5. the lonely journal-keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw/ discussions of mental health, therapy, dissociation, dissociative amnesia, mentions of demonic possession
> 
> Ranboo discovers they're not as alone as they once thought.

_I saw seven birds._

A flurry of black against orange, yellow, white, against dark green. The crackling of fire in a silent evergreen forest, a deer sprinting desperately away, smoke filling its lungs full. One crow and several more. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. They once sat in a circle, now they disperse formlessly, screaming in familiar voices. Waving hues of yellow and red and orange now dance lazily around the clearing, once in the distance. Acrid, burning smoke plumes and fills the space to the brim and beyond, engulfing the black and the green and the brown. All is bright white.

_I saw the Lonely Journal-Keeper._

Ranboo fidgets with the cushion beneath them, elbows digging uncomfortably into the wood frame of the chair. Phil sits across from them with an expectant expression, and they try to swallow the panic rising from their gut. _Context clues, he probably just asked me a question._ They go quiet for a bit too long, it seems, as Phil frowns lightly.

“Sorry, I probably should have waited when I noticed, I asked if you were ready?” he reiterates patiently, answering Ranboo’s unspoken question. Ranboo nods, and Phil smiles and nods back.

“These are just some general questions that I have to ask to begin, then we can really start talking,” he clarifies, scribbling something in the notebook in front of him. “In the past two weeks, how often have the following impacted you?” 

_Here we go._

“Little interest or pleasure in doing things; not at all, several days, more than half the days, or nearly everyday?”

Ranboo contemplates for a second, then shakes their head. “Not at all,” they answer.

“Feeling down, depressed, or hopeless; not at all, several days, more than half the days, or nearly everyday?”

“Not at all.”

“Trouble falling asleep or staying asleep, or sleeping too much; not at all, several days, more than half the days, nearly everyday.”

Ranboo actually pauses for this one. They think back to all the gaps in their memory, sometimes the first thing they remember is laying or sitting on their bed. Maybe they’ve just been sleeping a lot more than usual? _That would make sense, but what about the other times?_ “Nearly everyday… I think,” they reply, unsure.

Phil cocks his head at them, still writing things down in his notebook even without looking. “Do you want to elaborate?”

“I… have these periods of time where I– my memory isn’t the best, but sometimes I… come to? In my bed? So I’m thinking maybe I just laid down for a nap and forgot?” 

Phil nods, furrowing his brow minutely as he writes a bit more than Ranboo felt like they said. They try not to think too hard about it.

“Alright. Next, feeling tired or having little energy; not at all, several days, more than half the days, nearly everyday.”

“Not at all.”

“Poor appetite or overeating; not at all, several days, more than half the days, nearly everyday.”

“Not at all.”

“Feeling bad about yourself, or that you’re a failure or have let yourself or your family down; not at all, several days, more than half the days, nearly everyday.”

Ranboo hums, slightly uncertain. _Just tell the truth, it’ll be ok._ “More than– more than half the days.”

Phil nods, smiling kindly, silently encouraging. It calms their nerves.

“Trouble concentrating on things, such as reading; not at all, several days, more than half the days, nearly everyday.”

“Not at all.”

Ranboo was starting to feel like a broken record.

“Moving or speaking so slowly that those around could have noticed, or the opposite, so fidgety or restless that you’ve been moving around more than usual; not at all, several days, more than half the days, nearly everyday.”

_Not what I meant when I said that._ “Several days,” Ranboo says, unsure again. “The– the, uh, second one, the being restless one?” they clarify as Phil opens his mouth.

“Thoughts you would be better off dead, or of hurting yourself in any way?” Phil levels his gaze just above Ranboo’s eyes. There’s a gentleness behind the cloudy-blue that would probably have reassured them if it was any other answer.

“Not at all,” they glance away, fidgeting with their sleeves. It wasn’t a lie, _why did it feel like one?_

Phil shuffles a bit through the other papers on his desk, opening a new page in his notebook.

“Just a few more then we’ll be ready, okay?” he assures, and Ranboo nods for lack of anything to really add. _Not like it’s really bothering me._

“In the last 2 weeks, how often have the following impacted you? Feeling nervous, anxious, or on edge; not at all, several days, more than half the days, or nearly everyday?”

“Nearly everyday,” Ranboo swallows thickly.

“That’s not really unusual, new situations like this aren’t generally the most calm for anyone,” Phil comments with a nod. “Unable to stop or control worrying; not at all, several days, more than half the days, nearly everyday?”

“Nearly everyday.”

“Worrying too much about different things; not at all, several days, more than half the days, nearly everyday?”

“Nearly everyday,” Ranboo repeats. _Broken record._ Something about the phrase makes their skin itch.

“Trouble relaxing; not at all, several days, more than half the days, nearly everyday?”

“Several days.” _Not much better._

“Being so restless that it’s hard to sit still; not at all, several days, more than half the days, nearly everyday?”

“Several days.”

“Becoming easily annoyed or irritated; not at all, several days, more than half the days, nearly everyday?”

Ranboo hesitates. It wasn’t… they weren’t usually _annoyed_ per se, and it’s only been a few times, but…

“Several days, I guess?” Phil cocks his head to the side, silently inviting them to elaborate. “It’s not exactly that I’m– I’m not annoyed, exactly, it’s just– it’s more like I just want… everything to turn off for a bit?” they offer. Phil contemplates for a bit, then nods.

“The word ‘annoying’ annoys me, honestly, because that absolutely falls under it, but most people don’t consider it,” he explains, and Ranboo ‘ah’s in understanding. “Feeling afraid as if something bad might happen; not at all, several days, more than half the days, nearly everyday?” he continues.

“Nearly everyday.”

“In the past month, have you had thoughts of hurting yourself or others? This one’s just ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

Ranboo shakes their head vigorously. They’re secretly glad to stop saying the same thing over and over.

Phil pauses, muttering something to himself. “In your whole life, have you ever tried to kill yourself?”

Something in Ranboo’s throat catches at the question, and they shake their head again, this time more unsure.

“Not— not that I’m aware of?”

Phil writes some more things in his notebook, combing through his previous writings. His previous clinical tone is dropped for his much softer regular one.

“Alright, mate, you scored pretty high on the anxiety portion, but that could just be you adjusting to being here. I’m all ears for anything you want to talk about, otherwise I can start us out if you’re unsure,” he offers warmly, patient smile returning to his face.

Ranboo thinks back to the two weeks they’d been there, the whirlwind of feelings and thoughts they experienced on the daily; their mind catches on the months worth of missing memories before they came here, as well as the blanks they experienced daily.

“I’ve been– I’ve had a lot of trouble with my memory, recently? Sometimes, I’ll wake up, and not remember the day before, and there are almost– almost always things missing. Sometimes little, sometimes pretty big. I’m not sure I’ve had a single day here in tact in my mind,” they explain, rushing through the words for reasons they aren’t quite aware of.

“Have you tried writing things down? I can give you a journal if you want,” Phil says after some deliberation, digging through the desk drawers to the right of him. Ranboo accepts the warm leather and quill, running thin fingers over the cover in slight awe. _This is really well made, I wonder if he did it himself?_

“I did, actually, I’m glad you like it. I can show you a few old ones I have lying around if you want a general structure, or my own,” Phil offers. Ranboo startles, confused.

“Did– did I say that outloud?” they grimace.

He nods, quirking a lighthearted eyebrow. “You have that problem a lot?”

“I talk to myself a lot—”

Ranboo remembers the conversation they had with Techno, about how the voices in their head sometimes sound different from them.

“— Or, well, my… thoughts? Sometimes it feels like I’m talking to someone else,” they admit quietly. Phil’s expression doesn’t change, and they’re not sure whether it’s good or bad. _Probably good._

“Can you try something for me?” Ranboo’s throat drops into their stomach, but hums to show acknowledgement. “Try starting your journal out as if you were writing a letter? Or just, introduce yourself in some way on the first page? I have examples,” he says as he dives back into his drawers, procuring two well-worn books.

The first belonged to someone named Moss, by the looks of it. There’s a small paragraph in print at the top, and below it is a longer one in slightly messier scrawl, signed with a different name. A few other paragraphs in various handwriting— all still quite close to the top one— follow. Ranboo hums, finding a similar pattern in the second book. They try to hand them back, but Phil shakes his head.

“I think they might be useful to you, you can keep them for now,” he explains. Ranboo nods, stacking the three of them, with theirs on top. “We can move somewhere more comfortable for you to write, or you can do it on your own time.”

They stand, almost too quickly, and wait for Phil to exit the door. He chuckles lightly, watching to see where they go. They decide on the desk in their room, which they didn’t even really realize was there until that moment, and sit in the chair determinedly. Phil watches silently from the doorway for a bit, before Ranboo glances at him curiously, and he takes that as a cue to leave.

They open their notebook, carefully, and muse with their quill against the page for a bit.

~~Hello.~~ _Too formal._

**Hey, my name’s Ranboo.**

They take out one of the others and set it open beside them, studying the entries.

**I’m not all that great in social situations. I’m currently living with Phil, Technoblade, Wilbur, Tommy, and Tubbo. I haven’t talked to Tubbo or Wilbur much yet.**

~~I almost got stabbed a few days ago.~~

They set the quill down for a moment, pondering what else there is to say.

Suddenly, they open their eyes in bed. Sunlight barely begins to filter through the curtains, the sky still a dull orange rather than the vibrant blue of mid-day. They absently wonder if it’s rising or setting.

The notebook sits closed on the desk, stacked with the other two. Ranboo blinks away the sleep in their eyes, opening to the first page.

_Hello, Ranboo! I assume I’m supposed to write in this, too!_

_My name is_ _I’m Raceme! I’m not that good either, don’t worry! I’ve had Tubbo talk to me a few times, but that’s it!_

The handwriting is slightly neater, some letters looped into cursive while the others are regular print. Overall, though, it’s scarily similar to their own.

_I read some of the other journals, so I’m borrowing this idea, but… I really like flowers! Like, the science behind them, mostly!_ ~~_I actually named_~~ _It’s kind of what my name is!_

Ranboo closes the journal, tucking it under their arm and moving through the silent halls, arriving without much thought in front of Phil’s door. The knock barely even processes in their own ears, causing them to startle when Phil appears, disheveled. They wordlessly present the journal, open to the first page, to the slightly confused man.

Phil nods in understanding, opening his arms in invitation. Ranboo doesn’t realize they’re crying until it stings their cheeks as they press their face into Phil’s robes. Are they possessed? Is there something evil inside of them, controlling them without them knowing? They didn’t know what was happening, and it scared them so, so badly.

“You’re ok, you’re ok,” Phil soothes, trying his best to minimize the damage the tears are doing. Ranboo’s body shakes with their cries, and they only barely catch Phil motioning for Techno to go back into its room as they shake their head. All of their words die the second they leave their mouth, turning them into a stuttering mess.

The tears slow and they hiccup as Phil wipes at the tears on their cheeks, face set in soft concern.

“You’re not possessed, I promise you. It’s a trauma response, and I can help you work through it,” Phil explains in a low voice, beckoning them inside his room. They sit on his bed, nearly collapsing into the soft covers, while Phil keeps a gentle hand on their back.

“The good news is, this explains the missing memories. We just need to work on talking to, well, everyone else.” Ranboo nods along to Phil’s words, trying to process but finding themselves a little lost. Everyone else?

“Basically, your brain wanted to protect you from something bad that was happening, so it partitioned it off to another part of your brain, which became a different person,” Phil tries, and Ranboo furrows their brows.

“I don’t– I don’t remember anything bad happening,” they say, slightly in denial.

“That’s sort of the point, mate,” Phil responds with a huff of a laugh.

“Ok, so, how do I…” they trail off, gripping the notebook with a bit more force than needed.

“Just like you did before, when they feel ready to show themselves, they should introduce themselves just like that. One day, hopefully, you won’t need to rely on it,” Phil encourages.

Ok. They could do that, they suppose. Just like they’ve already been doing. Something strikes them, and they open the book to a page after the first one, anxiously looking away from the eerily unfamiliar handwriting. They start writing down the events that have unfolded so far, reluctantly signing their name at the top. Phil looks on with an approving smile.

“Want some breakfast?” he asks, shifting to get up. Ranboo nods, moving to follow. Food sounded nice.

* * *

**Hey, Ranboo. I’m Reckon.**

**Sorry for the situation with Raceme! She didn’t mean to scare you, and we didn’t think it would end up the way it did.**

You guys can use different pronouns than me?

_I am my own person, silly!_

Right.

_I watered the flowers with Tubbo today! He told me about how exactly bees collect pollen!_

Hey y’all, Sib here. I had to sit through Techno non-stop talking about the story of Theseus or whatever so y’all better be grateful it wasn’t you. 

Techno’s cool, though, I would have loved to listen.

I’ll keep that in mind, next time. 

Wilbur played me one of his songs today. He sounded really good.

**Raceme is the one who keeps trying to take control everytime we step outside, if you were wondering, Ranboo.**

_Snitch_.

I just want to feel the sunlight once, please.

_Only because I care for you so much, you may have one (1) sunlight._

How generous.

Tommy is about to be a dead man. 

Is that why he yelled at me when I walked out of my room this morning?

He wouldn’t stop messing with our ears. 

So you resort to threats?

Phil would approve. 

Phil did not approve.

* * *

Ranboo smiles as they close the notebook, tucking it under their pillow for safe-keeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, the formal introduction of ranboo's system! ill try my best to write in a way that includes them but i know i wont get everyone so, heres our list!  
> ranboo - host  
> sib - cohost  
> reckon - gatekeeper  
> raceme - primary trauma holder  
> laika - nonhuman trauma holder  
> xander - primary protector  
> bifrons - persecutor (dormant... for now, perhaps?)


	6. the peacemaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw// discussions of abandonment, child neglect, verbal abuse, disordered eating
> 
> Ranboo loathes the rain, Tubbo does as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peacemaker (derogatory)
> 
> im starting a new prequel fic! [check it out!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29519760/chapters/72529773) its phil-centric and its mostly about his journey of actually being good at what he does. if you enjoy my writing and want more its what im putting all my stuff into next! :)

Hazy skies and water distorted glass cast across Ranboo’s mournful gaze. It was Market day, but they found themselves stuck inside due to the open air nature of it, abandoned with nothing but their thoughts. Movement catches in their periphery, causing them to turn and squint in confusion. A face inches from theirs causes them to jolt backwards, tumbling off the chair and landing on their back with an indignant squawk. 

Tubbo cackles from above them, offering them a hand while using the other to cover his giggles. Ranboo swats at it playfully, scoffing as they stand.

"Fine, I see how it is," Tubbo pouts teasingly, crossing his arms and turning his head in an exaggerated fashion. Ranboo simply gives a half-hearted glare back, holding it for a second before the two burst into a laughing fit. Ranboo coughs a few times, and Tubbo's eyes gleam; locking eyes after they've calmed slightly, they go back into it, sound bouncing off the walls and through the unoccupied home. Ranboo reclaims their seat, Tubbo wiping at a tear while pulling up one of his own.

"I thought you went with Phil and everyone?" Ranboo questions, turning their gaze out the window in the vague direction of where the rest of their family currently is. Tubbo shakes his head, glancing in the same place.

"I don't really like the rain, either," he explains casually, slinking down in his chair little by little. 

"Nice to listen to, though." 

A comfortable silence settles between the two, rain pattering against the panes and a distantly ticking clock accompanying them. It was peaceful, enough so that Tubbo thought to make himself comfortable against Ranboo's shoulder, quickly transitioning into heavy eyelids and deep breaths. They smile, finding themselves drifting as well.

_ I saw seven birds. _

A young boy, faceless, hurriedly picking up cloth dolls. He constructs a shelter of leaf and stick as rain soaks through his clothing. He arranges the dolls under the canopy, ensuring each and every one is dry. He pays no heed to the brown on the horizon, inching ever closer. He sighs content as he lays the last doll gently with the rest, mud and debris lapping at his ankles. The water reaches his neck, and he cries out, throat slowly filling until he can no longer breathe. The shelter remains untouched beneath the surface.

_ I saw the Peacemaker. _

Sweat stings at Ranboo's skin as they're jolted awake by a sudden crash of thunder, shifting Tubbo just enough to wake him as well. 

"What's up?" he asks groggily. Ranboo shakes their head, trying to dissuade worry from Tubbo and clear the nightmare from their thoughts.

"Weird dream," they mutter, hoping he drops it. They wish they were that lucky.

"Can I know what it was?" he requests, suddenly gaining interest in staying awake. Ranboo sighs, and Tubbo opens his mouth to take it back before they cut him off.

"It was this– this kid who was like, like putting these dolls in a shelter? From the rain? And then the water rose rapidly and they drowned. I just watched." Tears prick at their eyes, but they swallow them down. When Tubbo remains silent, Ranboo gazes out the window awkwardly. "I don't know, it was weird."

"I think I've had that dream before, if not something similar," Tubbo says under his breath. Ranboo makes a surprised noise. "I was the kid, though."

Ranboo stays quiet, assuming Tubbo is collecting his thoughts by his thoughtful expression, brows furrowed.

"I talked to Dadza about it, the first few times it happened. I think it's supposed to…" he flounders with his words for a bit, face scrunching. "There was this time– a bit before I moved in, Tommy and Techno got into a bit of a serious fight. Neither wanted to bring it to Phil, so I tried to get involved. I just wanted to keep the peace between them, accidentally ended up siding with Techno. It hurt Tommy, bad. I still feel awful for it."

"Oh…" Ranboo says, not quite getting what Tubbo was trying to imply. Tubbo groans, frustrated more with himself than anything.

"I just– I have a problem of trying to stick to what I think will fix things best but I just end up making them worse. There's always somebody that gets hurt whenever I try to step in, but I can't just sit by an do nothing… Still, keeping the peace only seems to last so long if you don't actually solve the problem."

Ranboo 'ahh's, suddenly painfully empathetic of that feeling. "I don't remember them entirely, but I remember my siblings— my biological siblings— used to fight a lot. Sometimes physically. I wanted to help them through it a lot but… well, as you said," they shrug. It had only been recently that they'd even remembered they had siblings, the guilt eating at them before they remembered what the two had put them through. Tubbo remains silent for a moment, something building behind his eyes.

"I don't have any bio siblings… barely even a bio dad," he mutters the last part, bitter anger seeping through. Ranboo remembers the confrontation with the adult goat hybrid a few weeks ago; Schlatt was his name? Several things click into place in their mind as Tubbo absently swipes a hand past budding horns.

"I think I met him the other day," they mention, Tubbo instantly tensing. Ranboo wonders if bringing it up was actually a good choice, but when Tubbo looks at them, they know they can't go back.

"You- you did?" he asks, voice wavering slightly.

"Yeah, he, uh—" they think it through for a moment, deciding to choose honesty, "he kind of sort of threatened me with a knife?"

Tubbo exhales shakily, running a hand through his hair. 

"Techno, uhm, saved me, basically. Didn't hurt him or anything." A tense moment of silence passes between the two, and Ranboo fidgets with their hands. Tubbo swallows thickly before he speaks up again.

"How drunk was he?" It barely comes out above a whisper, tone indicating he already knew the answer.

"He– hmm… well, he sort of, uhm, sort of reeked of it," Ranboo answers, and watches as Tubbo's eyes well up. He gapes for a bit, desperately trying to get the words out, before one breaches the surface and he moves forward into Ranboo's shoulder.

Despite the light sting against their skin, they take him into their arms. He nearly doubles over with the force of his sobs, clinging so tightly to Ranboo's shirt they're afraid it may rip. They simply rub soothing circles in between his shoulder blades, trying not to think about the nubs digging into their neck.

"He was supposed to– he was, he was getting bet- better. Phil– Phil said that he was sober, he was sober and wanted to– to see me. That he was going to apol- apologize," Tubbo rambles between hiccups, the dam fully breaking loose at the end.

He cries impossibly harder, fully pressing his weight into Ranboo's side. Helplessly, they squeeze him as hard as they can without hurting either of them, scratching lightly at his skull and whispering vague reassurances. If Tubbo was paying attention, he probably would have found it awkward.

Despite this, Ranboo sits patently with him for a while, holding him close and repeating the same few phrases while praying he doesn't notice. Tubbo eventually dries out, reduced to sniffles and the occasional hiccup. Ranboo stops their words but keeps their hold on him, petting his hair gently until his head moves up to meet Ranboo's gaze He blinks owlishly up at them, slowly removing himself from their arms and pulling his knees up to his chest in his own chair.

"Sorry, I don't get to do that a lot. I'm– I'm supposed to be the happy one, you know? Even if they don't… even if they comfort me when I am upset, I still try not to let them see it," he explains, wiping at his cheeks futilely.

"You're alright," Ranboo assures, absently rubbing at the sting of where Tubbo's tears soaked through their shirt.

"I'm mostly just upset because—" he pauses, turning his gaze to Ranboo. "Am– am I ok to talk about it?" Ranboo nods emphatically.

"I thought I could make up with him, you know? I thought that if he was getting better that– that he actually cared about me. He never seemed to when I was growing up… I basically raised myself. He was just always busy with work or he was drunk and angry," he sniffs, absently scratching at the base of his horns.

"Sometimes I'd go days without seeing him, and I was fine with it for the most part; it took a week straight of scrounging for scraps for me to… well. It was this winter; no heat in the house, a few stale pieces of bread and a half-empty jar of peanut butter that I knew I couldn't stretch for very long. One day, I asked to come home with Tommy, and then I just never left. He didn't end up coming back for another month." Tubbo sighs heavily and flexes his hands in an anxious manner. 

"It's still hard to eat sometimes, honestly; it just makes me feel like I need to prepare to go without," he admits. Ranboo nods, grimacing in understanding. They think back to their first dinner here, how they barely touched their plate, ready to sneak most of it into their room in case they misbehaved and were forced to go without. The feeling of week-old food in their mouth haunted them as Phil gently explained that that wasn't something they needed to worry about.

"He's shown up a few times, tried talking to me. I'd either freeze and start crying or get angry and start shouting. The anger was the worst," Tubbo's gaze drifts down, intensely studying the patterns of the wood grain beneath them. They're silent for a long moment, Ranboo wondering if they should say something.

"I was mad because he seemed to only ever want to see me so that he– so that he could fulfill some mental quota. I remember being traded from stranger to stranger for the majority of my childhood. Always someone else watching me for a few days before he'd pop back in and spend a week with me," he continues, fidgeting with his hands.

"Sometimes I miss those weeks. Rarely, he'd be sober and wouldn't spend the entire time he saw me screaming at me for existing," he admits, casting a guilty look out the window. "Sometimes it felt like love."

Tubbo is quiet for a moment at his own admission, gaze going slightly glassy as he seems deep in thought. Ranboo isn't really sure what to do besides sit with him and let him work through it. As they raise a hand to lay lightly on his back, he huffs and goes to stand abruptly. "I am not worthless. I am not a burden. I am not anything he ever said to me." He says it like a mantra, tone almost rehearsed.

Tubbo begins heading for his room, stopping only to beckon for Ranboo to follow. The room itself is cleaner than they expected; something about Tubbo screams that the floor would be unrecognizable. The only noticeable thing out of place is the mountain of clothing shoved in the corner, as well as spread loosely on the yellow bedsheets. The honeycomb pattern becomes more identifiable as Ranboo comes closer to it, Tubbo vaguely gesturing for them to sit. A bright potted tulip stands proud in the window as Tubbo sits at a small piano with a grin.

"Dadza suggested I start doing something I liked every time I got worked up," he explains, running his fingers over the keys.

"Makes sense. Where did the nickname come from?" Ranboo asks with a curious tilt to their head.

"What? Oh, 'Dadza'? Honestly, I picked it up from Tommy. He doesn't say it very much around people," he shrugs. 

"He explained it to me once but I didn't really get it," he continues, noticing Ranboo's dissatisfaction with the answer. They'll have to ask Tommy later.

Tubbo begins messing around on the piano, playing random chords and little jingles. He pulls a sour face whenever he hits a wrong note in a chord, and it makes Ranboo laugh. They sit in Tubbo's room for several hours, trading banter as he shows Ranboo the bare minimum of music theory he knew. 

Ranboo smiles contentedly, casting a glance out the window when they finally noticed the absence of noise. Though the clouds remain, a bit of sunshine peeks through, rays landing perfectly over the tulip and across the soft features of their friend.


	7. the wordless one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ranboo finds out there's a lot more to Wilbur than what he can't say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c!wilbur was a bitch and i loved him so much
> 
> tw// invasion of privacy (i think), discussions of neglect and isolation

_ I saw seven birds. _

It is quiet. Far too quiet. Not even a whimper escapes into the oppressive silence. Cold apathy chills the room, both internal and external. The door opens, and the space is briefly flooded with distant, pained screams and fluorescent lights. Bodies collide before one is pulled back by the collar with a short yelp, animalistic growl growing as they part. It reverberated through the room, nearly slicing through the unfeeling atmosphere. Nearly.

_ I saw the Wordless One. _

Ranboo cracks open their eyes, mid-afternoon light nearly blinding them. A mysterious ache in their limbs causes a groan to escape them, reaching blindly for the journal tucked under their pillow. The action yields no results, and they frown, turning to see if maybe they left it on the desk. Empty. 

They groan again, slightly louder, as they push themself up and begin heading for the door through their pain. Pushing the door open, they contemplate the best way to recover it without bringing too much unwanted attention; asking their siblings is near out of the question. Physically pausing, they run the words through their head again. Considering the odd bunch  _ family _ left an uneasy pit in their stomach, but an unmatched warmth in their chest. Being shown endless amounts of compassion and engagement made it easy to refer to them as such, more so than the ones they had left behind. The thought of having left behind their biological family sours on their tongue briefly, before they remember how Tommy and Tubbo had spoken of their own. Part of their mind whispers that it was not nearly as bad as the two boys, but they shake it off. 

Their head returns to the moment, bounding down the stairs as anxiety begins to snake its way around their gut. Their joints protest as they skip the last step, landing with a jolt and a muttered curse. Tubbo pokes his head out from the couch at the sound of Ranboo shuffling through papers littered on the dining room table, usually untouched beyond special occasions. He silently watches as Ranboo moves around the room, nerves fraying as their desperate search yields nothing.

"What're you doing?" he finally asks, resting his chin on his arms across the back of the couch.

"Looking for something," Ranboo responds vaguely, voice strained as they continue without pause.

"I can tell that, but what specifically?" Tubbo prods, turning as Ranboo enters the living room on a warpath. Their hands shake slightly as they unearth every pile of junk and sort through every book in the vicinity.

"Journal," they snap, unthinking, more anxious than aggressive. Tubbo 'ahh's and stands to help, only for Ranboo to shake their head vigorously and signal for him to sit back down. He looks at his sibling confused, but complies regardless.

"It's fine, Tubbo, I can find it myself," they plead, glancing over at him. He fidgets with his hands for a moment, thinking.

"Wouldn't it be faster if I helped?" 

Ranboo sighs heavily, running a hand through their hair and shaking their head once again. It was beginning to ache. 

"I want to find it by myself, but thanks Tubbo." 

Tubbo eventually concedes, just going back to laying on the couch and staring off into space, it seems. 

As Ranboo is near rearranging the kitchen, Tommy slips in through the back door and lands on his back with a thud, cackling. Regaining his breath, he jumps up, scooping up the few potatoes that fell from the armful he had when he'd entered.

"Looking for something, big man?" he asks, elbowing Ranboo, who nearly jumps out of their skin.

"Nothing," they say unconvincingly. Tommy stares for a moment, and Ranboo smiles awkwardly, turning away and continuing about their business. Their silent prayer of peace goes unanswered.

"Nothing," Tommy repeats, purposefully not taking the hint.

"My journal," they sigh. Tommy dons a shit-eating grin.

"Ah. Sorry, no, I haven't seen your diary anywhere," he snickers. Ranboo raises an eyebrow, trying to figure out what the joke is supposed to be. Neither of them notice the sound of the backdoor sliding open and shut.

Techno suddenly looms over Tommy's shoulder, raising a hand to smack him lightly on the back of his head. Tommy lets out an indignant yelp, dropping his armful to clutch at the back of his skull with a glare.

"Tommy, stop stealing the potatoes. You can literally just ask," Techno drawls.

"But then it's less fun," Tommy pouts playfully, trying not to sound petulant. Techno rolls his eyes, then glances at Ranboo.

"Hallo," he greets with an awkward wave, which Ranboo returns.

"Ranboo's looking for their diary, Technoblade," Tommy states, once again snickering at his own joke. Techno silently stares at Tommy for an uncomfortable moment, brows slightly furrowed. Tommy opens his mouth to explain, but gets cut off.

"Yes, I know it's supposed to be a joke. It's just not funny. I haven't seen it, but good luck," Techno shrugs, directing the last part at Ranboo, before making his way toward the stairs.

Tommy deflates fractionally, picking up the dropped potatoes and dumping them unceremoniously into the sink. Ranboo moves on, thinking to check their room once again.

After a solid few minutes of searching and coming up with nothing, they decide to take a break before their head bursts. Getting some fresh air seems like a solid course of action, they think, stepping into the uncomfortably warm sunlight of the exposed back porch and sighing softly.

"Hey, Ranboo," they hear a voice call from one of the lower decks.

"Yeah?" They stop mid-step when the voice processes, mouth falling open. Hopefully, Wilbur hasn't noticed. By the time their jaw clicks shut, he turns and motions them over from his usual chair, patting insistently at the one next to him.

"Thank you for not making a big deal. It gets annoying," he comments, voice scratchy from disuse. Ranboo shrugs nonchalantly, untrusting of their own voice. "'Oh, Wilbur, you're so quiet all the time, you never speak to anyone,' what do you want me to do about it, hmm? Tell my vocal cords 'do better'? 'Oh, Wilbur, it's so hard to understand you when you never tell us what you need.' Obviously you're not listening anyway, because you could tell without that."

The subtle, rolling anger is a shock, but not as much as the accent. They faintly recall Techno saying they were twins.

"Anyway, did you need something?" he asks innocently, and Ranboo immediately bristles. Something felt wrong here.

"I'm looking for– for my journal," Ranboo admits shyly. They weren't entirely sure why letting their siblings know about it was like pulling teeth, but the anxiety persists nonetheless. Maybe it had to do with some of the deeply personal entries, the ones with the most trauma attached. Or they were just feeding off of the same insecurity that Tommy seemed to be digging at early.

Wilbur pauses for a moment, making a thoughtful face before shifting slightly, picking up something from beside his chair and handing it to Ranboo. Lo and behold, the smooth leather with chicken scratch "DO NOT READ" carved into the front weighs heavily in their hands. "You– you had– why?"

Wilbur shrugs, picking at his jeans with disinterest.

"The others might say I'm nosy, I just like to get a heads-up on things." Ranboo sits in stunned silence a bit, chest tightening with terror they dare not acknowledge.

"So, Schlatt finally showed his face again, huh?" he mentions, switching the topic fast and leaving Ranboo blanching.

"Uhm, yeah… Techno took care of him, though," they respond, voice wavering with uncertainty. Wilbur hums, slightly scowling. The gesture feels out of place on Wilbur, unpracticed almost, and it sets Ranboo even more on edge.

"Ah, yes, reliable old Technoblade, still putting the brawn to use. I will admit I've always been slightly jealous of that uncanny ability of his," Wilbur comments, casting an exaggerated glance to Ranboo. They shudder despite themself; the tone, the situation, it all felt deeply wrong. Everything was scattered, out of place, feeling like reality had shifted on its axis while Ranboo was asleep.

"What– what ability?" they ask conversationally, pushing down the uncomfort that threatened to stopper their throat.

"To be angry," he sighs, vagueness only serving to dig at Ranboo's fraying nerves. After a moment with no response, Wilbur sighs heavily. "When we were younger, I wasn't allowed to be angry.  _ They _ would always take it out on him to punish me, it even transferred over to most of the foster homes we were in."

Ranboo nods, brows pinching together minutely.

"Blade always had a way of pushing into others' business, though, so perhaps it was his own fault. Regardless, if I showed any emotion beyond blank disinterest, it would be at least a week before we could see each other again. That time spent apart was frankly agonizing, if only for the extreme boredom that came with it," Wilbur grimaces. The sentiment settles wrong in Ranboo's chest. It must have translated to their face as well.

"Don't get me wrong, I love my brother more than the air I breathe daily, and would never wish for him to be back in that situation— however, there's the oft romanticized aspect of patching a loved one's wounds; hearing his stories of his fights was the most excitement I would get most days," he clarifies with his hands raised. 

"Without him, it would be gray walls upon gray walls upon gray floors. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, the same thing again and again to bash your head against when your thoughts overwhelmed your senses. They would forget my food a lot if not for him."

Theatrical, that's the word Ranboo would use to describe Wilbur's speech. It felt like he was on stage monologuing, rather than spilling the intimate details of his life story. Maybe the time that had passed had created a mental buffer that served to disconnect him from the situation, causing him to view it like a performance rather than his reality for several formative years.

"I digress. This is getting quite depressing, I imagine," Wilbur hums, drumming his fingers on his lap with a thoughtful look. 

"I suppose I should tell you the fun stories first; like the last time we got kicked out of a foster home before ending up with Dad. This Blazeborn, I don't quite remember his name, had decided that Blade's stature and attitude was an afront to him, and would antagonize him constantly. My brother, however, has a much sharper tongue than a short temper; each insult was met with another of greater caliber. This lasted about a week before the kid threw the first punch; I think that was the longest fight Blade had faced outside of the ring at that point. They were locked in near stalemate for minutes; the kid could back up his claims of strength. Things started turning sour when he began to utilize his natural abilities; that's the burn scar on my brother's arm."

Ranboo 'ahh's, recalling the large patch of pink-ish skin running the length of Techno's right forearm. They weren't sure when they had noticed it among the litany of various scars peppering the hybrid's skin, but it certainly stood out enough for them to clearly bring it to mind.

The nickname Wilbur has been repeatedly using finally clicks in Ranboo's mind, and they frown slightly. Why favour the latter half of his name?

"Before that, most of the kids who came into his path were taken down in seconds. I can't help but feel responsible for those, as it was their taunting of me that led them to their defeat," Wilbur admits, gazing off into the distance.

An uncomfortable silence washes over the two, Ranboo fidgeting in their chair while Wilbur's eyes are locked at a fixed point on the horizon. They take the chance to glance at their journal, flipping to the last page they remember and going from there. A groan escapes them as they realize it doesn't have the answers they were looking for, only a vague note about "going out". They massage their temple, nursing the headache both from their predicament and from the information just spilled into their lap.

"Why are you telling me this?" they ask quietly, gesturing helplessly with one hand.

"I figured it was only fair, trauma for trauma." Wilbur glances back at them, Ranboo now noticing the lack of fire behind his eyes that they didn't realize was there in the first place.

"Don't tell my brother I said those things, please," he begs, voice faint and pitched. The contrast made Ranboo pause, nodding slowly before they even think to agree.

"It stays with me," they promise, and Wilbur gives them a ghost of a smile. He finally picks up his guitar, strumming aimlessly as usual. Ranboo leans back, letting the sunk soak into their weary bones.

They find themself being nudged awake some time later, the sun still quite high in the sky. Wilbur gestures vaguely toward the door, slipping something in their pocket as they stand and begin heading inside.

Phil greets them with a weary smile from the kitchen island.

"Did you end up finding it?" he asks, voice low. Ranboo blinks in confusion a few times, mind still foggy from their nap, before nodding empathically.

"I did, W– I left it outside, uhm, on accident," they lie, chest tightening again. They aren't certain why, but they felt they needed to cover for Wilbur. Well, actually, it was slightly uncomfortable for Ranboo, but Wilbur hadn't done anything wrong, per say. Curiosity and cats, or however the phrase goes. Therefore, no need to bring it up to Phil. They elect to ignore the odd look he gives them, simply gripping it a little tighter and forcing a smile as they head to put it in a safe place.

Tubbo, Tommy, and Techno all glance at Ranboo from the couch. They simply raise it into view with a thumbs up, slipping up the stairs without another word.

Ranboo sits at their desk, pondering for a long moment over whether or not they should include it in the entry or not. On one hand, it might be useful to know who is reading it, but on the other, Phil is one of those people. They really, really don't want Wilbur in trouble, so they simply tear out a page and tuck it safely in one of the drawers; it lists everyone who has access to the journal, which admittedly is very few currently.

They tuck it under their pillow once again, content, before heading to join the rest of their family in the living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lack of other alter's thoughts will be explained in the next chapter, i promise it's for a reason. the support on this continues to be insane! i'm blown away even by the amount of hits, honestly. thank you everyone for indilging my silly little ideas. there will be more of them coming out! this fic is basically just setting up vague backstory, i do have plans for making this a full series!


	8. i saw a brilliant light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw/ panic attack
> 
> Wilbur apologizes, Ranboo makes soup for a sick Techno and worries about the future, Phil is doing his best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> canon cant hurt me canon cant hurt me canon cannot hurt me. i will build this tower of everyone be good to each other and you cannot stop it.

/Why is Wilbur on the list of people who have access to the memory book?/

I think he took it from us, honestly.

_ I know for absolute fact that I put it under the pillow that night so I don’t think you’re far off. _

And he was actin’ all weird when I switched out before dinner.

Ranboo stares at the page, brows furrowed and mildly frustrated at their headmates. Surely it had just been left out, Wilbur wouldn't go to the trouble of just stealing a book, would he?

They shake their head, moving to leave the room when a rustling in their pocket catches their attention. A slip of parchment is fished out with thin fingers, Wilbur's distinctive handwriting making up a majority of its surface.

"Sorry for taking your journal, I just wanted to know what to avoid talking about with you. I feel like I can relate to you a bit better now, what you went through sounds rough yet pretty close to my situation. If you ever need someone to talk at, you can find me."

Force against Ranboo's hand startles them from reading, suddenly aware of their hand grasped around their doorknob. They step back as Wilbur pokes his head in sheepishly, waiting for Ranboo's invitation.

They pocket the note and step out of the way, awkwardly sitting on the bed as Wilbur joins them.

"I wanted to apologize, for the journal thing," he says quietly. Ranboo nods for him to continue, and he sucks in a breath.

"I shouldn't have done it, it was something private that I had no business in, and I'm sorry I did it," before Ranboo can say anything, he continues, "I'm sorry for dumping my issues on you without asking, as well."

Ranboo shakes their head, small smile on their face.

"You're ok, Wilbur. Thanks for– thanks for apologizing," they assure. Wilbur smiles brightly, slinging an arm around Ranboo and squeezing before heading out of the room.

"Tell Xander I'm especially sorry, please," he calls as he goes.

Ranboo hums, discarding the note into the trash.

Blinking, they find themself sat at the kitchen island, Phil digging around in cabinets with his back turned to them. They shake their head, trying to clear the fuzz encroaching on their brain as they observe the scene in front of them. Clothes covered in flour, a messy ball of dough rests on the countertop under their hands.

_Bread._ That's not gonna help them, Raceme. _Why waste time say lot word when few word do trick?_ We were in the middle of kneading, making a loaf.

"Right," they huff under their breath. Phil turns his head slightly, casting his gaze to Ranboo.

"You alright, mate?" he asks lightly.

Ranboo nods, returning to looking down at the dough before Phil nods back and returns to searching. They push at the blob gently, the batter sticking to their fingers slightly, and can't stop the frown from forming on their face. Phil turns around with a triumphant noise and places a metal bread pan on the counter.

"You look confused," Phil remarks with a quirk of his lips and a small tilt of his head.

"Honestly, a little bit," Ranboo admits. Phil smiles patiently, moving around the island to stand by Ranboo.

"I guess if I have to show you again," he sighs with an exaggerated, joking tone. At least the over-the-top wink would have tipped Ranboo off if nothing else. Phil grabs the dough ball, folding the top over itself and pressing with his palm while Ranboo looks on and tries to commit it to memory.

Ranboo replicates the motion, finding a bit of muscle memory as they get into an easy rhythm until it no longer separates when they pull their hands away. They play with it, tossing it a short distance between their hands for a bit before Phil scoops it away from them to place it in a bowl, covering it with a rag and setting it to the side.

"Do you know how to chop vegetables?" he asks, finding a clean spot to set down a handful of carrots, onion, celery, and garlic, along with an herb that Ranboo can't think of off the top of their head. Anxiously, they shake their head, suddenly insecure about their lack of experience. Phil nods, wiping off the remaining flour in front of them and placing a wooden cutting board in its place. Phil demonstrates, once again, then lets Ranboo take over. The lack of muscle memory this time serves as a learning curve, some of the pieces coming out much too large or much too small. Eventually, everything is cut and dumped into the now boiling stovetop or the trash respectively. Phil checks on the dough, finding its size sufficient, and packs it into the pan, sliding it into the oven.

He beckons Ranboo over to the stove, gesturing to the pot. Ranboo watches intently as the vegetables eventually meld into a delicious looking stew, just as the bread timer goes off. Phil fishes the pan out, fresh, golden bread filling the space with an otherworldly smell.

“Do you mind taking this up to Techno?” he asks as he prepares a bowl and a plate with the now ready food. Ranboo nods, taking them both in their arms and carefully heading for the stairs, glancing back to see Phil headed out the backdoor with a basket in hand. They decide not to question it.

They knock a few times to be polite before pushing the door open, eyes catching on the lump that stirs lightly on Techno’s bed as they do. Tufts of pink stick out the top of the comforter, and a sneeze followed by a sniff makes Ranboo frown slightly.

“Hey, I brought food,” Ranboo calls lowly, Techno finally surfacing from under the heavy blanket. It wrings its hands together before cradling the soup in its arms and humming a thanks, smiling slightly while looking down at it.

“Potato, huh? Phil make it?” it asks, voice scratchy and low.

“I did most of the work,” they half-joke, and Techno smiles fractionally wider. Ranboo’s brow furrows, a thought crossing their mind, before they leave briefly. Fetching a glass of water from the kitchen, they ignore the faint yelling from outside, figuring Tommy and Tubbo are just roughhousing again. They catch a glimpse of fading disappointment in Techno’s eyes as they step back into the room, offering the glass to it, who gulps a good three fourths of it down in a few seconds. It sets it lightly on the nightstand, hopefully gesturing for Ranboo to sit.

They comply happily, taking a seat in the chair at the end of the bed and letting their mind drift from one scattered thought to another.

“Have you, uh– have you eaten yet?” Techno asks awkwardly, clearing its throat in an attempt to rid itself of the uncomfortable scratchiness. Ranboo shakes their head, vaguely realizing the ache in their stomach but not quite willing to move just yet. “It’s– it’s really— you did– you did good,” it flounders for a moment, gesturing helplessly with the bowl in its hands. They brighten significantly.

“D’you mind…?” They vaguely nod their head toward the door, and Techno shakes its in return. Ranboo goes and fetches themself some of their own hard work, returning to the chair and contentedly breathing in the smell. An uncomfortable thought bubbles to the front of Ranboo’s mind unbidden, poisoning the taste of the food in their mouth with an unconscious frown. If Techno notices, it doesn’t comment.

“Hey, Techno, you’re 17 right?” they ask distantly. Techno nods in response, head tilted slightly in interest. “What happens when you’re– when you turn 18?” Its brow furrows in confusion, head tilting even more so.

“What d’you mean?” it responds.

“Like, are you– will you have to leave? Here?” they clarify with a groan, cursing their own inability to speak freely without anxiety driving its way violently through their insides. Techno shakes its head, strong enough to dislodge some strands from the loose braid trailing down its shoulder.

“Phil adopted me last year,” it explains.

Ranboo nods, trying to push down the well of anxiety that opened with that as well. They push on in the conversation, talking about random bits of mythology and fighting technique and whatever else comes to mind. If they notice the way Techno starts to have trouble keeping its eyes open, they don’t comment. Nor do they say anything when its replies are replaced with soft snores, simply gathering the long empty dishes from the nightstand and heading for the kitchen sink. Their mind wanders as their gloved hands move through the soapy water from muscle memory, anxiety forming into something more solid in the pit of their stomach. Worry carries them back to their room once they’re finished, tugging at the frayed edges of the blanket strewn messily on the bed.

What if Phil didn’t want to keep them, what if they turned 18 and had to find somewhere to go on their own with no help? They weren’t even in the foster care system, what if Phil decided not to waste his time with them before they even turned 18 and they had to figure something out even sooner. Something in the back of their mind whispers they’ve already found a place, that even if that happened they’d have some place to go.

The imagined grief is still enough to make them sick to their stomach, curling in on themself and laying stone still on the bed. They think back through the last year, from first arriving to where they are now. It’s mind-boggling, honestly, to think about how thoroughly they’d attached themself to this place and the people in it. Despite the warmth it brings to their chest now, it was startling the first time they realized they didn’t feel out of place here like they had been everywhere else. They imagined it like a painting; everywhere else, they were a large red streak across a muted nature scene, standing out in an uncomfortable way and detracting from the beauty of their surroundings. Living here felt more like they were a delicately painted tree amongst a forest at the foothills of a mountain. Insignificant in the best interpretation of the word, blending with the environment and perhaps even making it more pleasant.

This was something they didn’t want to— no,  _ couldn’t _ — lose. Anxiety and anguish fill their chest, forcing out tears that burned at their cheeks. They squeeze their eyes closed, trying to stop everything from pouring out at once, head spinning from the sudden onset of such strong emotion.

When they notice that their heaving breaths have stopped and their cheeks no longer sting, they open their eyes,the porcelain white of the bathtub nearly blinding them. Sitting up, they rub fervently at their cheeks and try to remember how they got here. Before anything can come from their internal inquiry, a gentle knock at the door causes them to jump, scrambling to unlock it.

Phil greets them with a worried expression masked with his usual grin.

“You alright, mate?” he asks, noting the inflamed tracks trailing their face. Ranboo shakes their head, trying to jostle their thoughts into something workable. Phil begins to try coaxing them out of the bathroom, but they interrupt.

“What– what happens to the kids you take in when they turn 18?” they ask. Phil’s brow furrows in worry, already having a sense where this conversation is leading to but deciding to go at the pace Ranboo is laying out.

“Well, it depends on the kid?” he shrugs helplessly, “sometimes they want to leave, so I let them. Sometimes they get transferred before they even turn 18, if they’re in the system. Or, like Techno and Wilbur, I see that they’re going to need a lot more help than I can give them if they age out, so I decide to adopt them. Like I did with Tommy and Tubbo today.”

“Do you– do they– do they get help when– when they leave? Do you help them?” Ranboo questions, voice nearly on the edge of begging. Small relief floods them when Phil nods emphatically, back of their head still nagging them that adopting 5 kids might be too much for Phil.

They sniff, registering the sting of tears once again, as Phil opens his arms. Nearly tripping over themself, they once again break into sobs in his arms, his feathers brushing against their back as they’re wrapped around the two. They’re vaguely appreciative of the privacy it provides.

Cries slow as Phil holds them tight, shushing them and running a soothing hand through their hair.

“You don’t have to go anywhere, Ranboo,” Phil assures. “You can stay just right here.”

_ But I saw a brilliant light heralded by seven birds. _

Wisps of white float lazily through the clear blue of the sky above. A gentle wind pushes against golden stalks of amber grain, glittering like gold over the distance. Life of all shapes and sizes writhes under the dark soil, basking in the calm. The only sound to be heard beyond the shimmering rustle of leaves is a faint trickle in the distance, a stream winding its way through the forest uninterrupted. A murder of crows caws lazily as they peck at fallen seeds and preen their feathers without a care in the world.

_ Flying tirelessly from the storm. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH. MY. GOD. thank all you so so so so much for all the support on this! its truly crazy how much this blew up, it will probably be my most popular fic for a long while! the comments have all been so nice and im glad i could make some of yall so happy with this! even just the insane amount of kudos and bookmarks have given me so much happiness lately. i do plan on adding another fic to this series that basically amounts to "fun/fluff without plot" because this is so backstory heavy that i couldnt really focus on their regular dynamics! itll probably be indefinitely long and ill take suggestions for mini plots!

**Author's Note:**

> thank you all so so much for the support on this! it truly does mean a lot!  
> feel free to reach out to me on my socials!  
> discord - doubleDerivative#0163  
> tumblr - @pog-wizard  
> twitter - @greyscaleSleuth


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